Crumbs
by ephemereal
Summary: The knock at the door made him jump. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and unannounced visitors were usually not good news. Especially not on Halloween.


Author's Note: So I've been really burned out since finishing Facing. Or…well…just inspired in different ways. I knew I wanted to do something for Halloween, but I couldn't figure out what. So I know I've used this date—Halloween 2005—twice now. Forgive me. This is a drabble that just sort of happened. It started out as fluff, but then I just couldn't bring myself to do yet another of the same. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Crumbs**

Perhaps it was the fact that it struck too close to home. Lots of people hiding behind a façade, treating their realest fears like a joke. It was his everyday reality. It was just that once a year, card companies and candy makers forced him to face it. It should have been funny. It should have been the one time he was able to laugh at himself.

Maybe it was the number of actual spirits who seemed to view it as a holiday as well. An excuse to bare themselves before those who were unlucky enough to be able to see. It was the one night when the city gasped with thousands of bereaved souls crying out for mercy.

John Constantine hated Halloween. He'd always been a little sheepish about admitting it; it seemed rather ironic that someone in his line of work would be bothered by a celebration of ghosts and ghouls. Still, it was the time when he couldn't escape the nightmares, when there wasn't enough alcohol or nicotine in the world to fight back the emptiness that tore at his stomach like acid.

The knock at the door made him jump, and he instantly chastised himself for being so on edge. He hadn't been expecting anyone, and unannounced visitors were usually not good news. Especially not on Halloween.

What he was when he opened the door made him bite his tongue in surprise.

"Chas? 'The fuck?" The younger man blinked at him. Constantine sighed, shook himself. He dealt with halfbreeds every day. He was being ridiculous. Still, he hadn't been expecting to see his late apprentice back so soon. "If anyone saw you—"

"Chill, John." Chas flexed gray-feathered wings. "What kid doesn't want to dress up as an angel?"

"Not funny," snapped Constantine. "You shouldn't be here." The truth was he just didn't want to deal with the memories it brought up. He wasn't liking himself much at the moment, but he told himself that just went with the territory.

"C'mon, John. You're really gonna throw me out?" Chas arranged his face in a characteristic pout, and Constantine rolled his eyes. "At least gimme some candy then."

Constantine sighed again, then stepped aside, letting Chas into the apartment. "Lock the door behind you. I'm still alive. Kinda want to keep it that way." He realized he'd already fallen back into the old pattern of verbal abuse, hoped Chas knew it was just a façade.

"C'mon," said Chas again, padlocking the door. "You really think I'd let you get hurt? What kind of angel do you think I am?"

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," muttered Constantine, surprising himself. It was the word 'angel' that had set him off, though he told himself he had good reason to be a little uptight. "Any number of well-meaning acquaintances I'm sure'd like to pay me a visit tonight."

Chas went over to the old red armchair and sat down, snagging a bag of cookies on his way over. He put one in his mouth and offered the package to Constantine, entirely unphased by the older man's irritability. He was like a punching bag that just kept bouncing back. "Cookie, John?"

Constantine pulled another chair in from the kitchen and sat down, shaking his head at the cookies. "How are ya kid," he asked at last, the anger fading into an overpowering exhaustion.

Chas shrugged and bit into another cookie, spilling crumbs all over the chair. "I got to help." He emptied the remains of the cookies into his palm and set the package on the end table. "The world didn't end, so I take it you got the Spear back."

"Yeah," said Constantine. For the first time it seemed he felt the magnitude of what it was he'd done. "Yeah."

"She okay?" asked Chas, finishing up the cookies.

"What? Who?"

"The girl. Her sister wants to know."

"Angela?" Constantine felt a sudden pang at her name. He'd been expecting to hear from her in the past three weeks, didn't know why he hadn't. "Yeah. I guess."

"Good," said Chas.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to know everything now," said Constantine, suddenly suspicious.

"I know enough," said Chas enigmatically. He got up, tossed the cookie package into the trash. HE went to the door and unlocked it before speaking again.

"Hey John?"

"What, kid?"

"Sometimes waiting isn't enough." Chas turned and stepped out. "Happy Halloween, John."

Constantine shook himself, padlocked the door hurriedly, and made his way back to the kitchen. He had a phone call to make.

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Happy Halloween! 


End file.
